Twelve O'Clock
by Darmed
Summary: Many named him Caramel, and he was the angel of the Midnight bar.


**Twelve O'Clock.**

_Many named him Caramel, and he was the angel of the Midnight bar._

_+--+_

As the clock hit twelve, everybody in the small corner bar grew restless. The performing artist left the stage to make room for the _main act_.

This bar was anything but a family diner; no decent mother would ever take their child – or husband, for that matter – to this corner of the streets of Manhattan.

In these blocks, the red lights burned till dawn and music sounded from shady places, divorced and single men – some even married – gathering around the clubs like moths drawn to a flame.

This bar was the Midnight bar. It was anything but a normal club. This place was for the upperclass; the rich men. Men willing to pay any price to get a few feet near a woman – or man, if the costumer wished – far out of their reach. From 10 to 6, any woman would be willing to dance on your lap if you'd just pull your wallet out of your neat little pocket, but every Wednesday evening, twelve o'clock sharp, the bright lights would dim and slow, sensual music would start to play.

Men shifted in their seats, wallets were drawn, the mood switched drastically. This all within a timespan of mere seconds.

Then, a long pair of boots appeared on the stage, tall legs, a lean body with the smoothest skin, a pretty face wearing a sensual smile, long hair in a ponytail.

He was a true exotic beauty.

Only a few knew him as Kanda Yuu, for he was more commonly known as _Caramel_. He was the star. The jewel. The diamond. The gem nobody dared to touch in fear of tainting it. He was the only man in the club's arsenal. The man who could make other men shiver just by speaking; could make them dance, even sing if he felt the need.

One chosen to dance with the legend could righteously call himself the luckiest man in the world. Those who he sang to, would be in ecstasy – would faint as soon as his song was finished.

He stepped onto the stage, his lean arms swaying a microphone by the cord, and stopped in the middle, walking up front to carefully look at his crowd, searching tonight's victim.

He winked at the lucky man; a redhead, who stood out from the normal, average crowd of businessmen.

He brought the microphone to his lips and opened them smiling – he started singing, softly – his hips started swinging, taunting.

Every flirtatious word brought a shiver to the visitors' thighs. Every lewd sound made them sigh and swoon.

A man shifted in the corner, him being the first whose pants started to become a tad uncomfortable.

That's what Kanda did. It was his job. Just a job. But every man thought of him as an angel. Especially when he sang.

His voice grew louder as he approached the chorus – passionate, enticing.

He slowly walked off the stage and stepped toward the red-haired boy. He swung his hair over his shoulder and sat on the boy's lap, singing on as he slowly rode him, driving him mad, like he had done every guy before him. Like so many before him.

He felt the boy's heavy breathing in his neck – could almost feel his heartbeat as he pulled the boy up by his tie, flush against his chest.

He pulled him along to the stage, hips still swaying provocatively, smiling as he sang the last words of the second verse.

His voice gained strength once more, to empower the chorus, as he pulled the redhead towards him and slowly danced around him, constantly eyeing him. He used practised souplesse to keep on swaying, long heels no longer bothering him after years of service.

He made a slow move to touch the other's lips with his own, but pushed him away as he sang the final verse.

Playing games. Always hard to catch. Never able to be touched by anyone. Those were what made the man with the caramel skin so mysterious.

He pulled the boy close again as he softly neared his final words for that evening. The lights darkened.

He moved to kiss the boy. The room grew dark.

The boy was released.

One song. That was all his crowd ever got.

Caramel had disappeared again, his whereabouts unknown until next Wednesday, when the clock would hit twelve once more.


End file.
